


On Love

by ToxicBabes



Category: Tom Clancy's Rainbow Six (Video Games)
Genre: Alcohol, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotions, Established Relationship, Forgiveness, Homophobia, Hunting, Intimacy, Introspection, M/M, Masculinity, Romance, Russia, Slight Anthology?, Smoking, conversational, emotional detachment, three shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-13
Updated: 2020-01-17
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:14:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 21,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22246174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToxicBabes/pseuds/ToxicBabes
Summary: Timur paints Maxim’s world in a vast spectrum of colours, from the warmest reds to the coldest blues. An exploration of their relationship, introspection, and loss.
Relationships: Maxim "Kapkan" Basuda/Timur "Glaz" Glazkov
Comments: 20
Kudos: 68





	1. Like Honey

**Author's Note:**

> This is largely a very self-indulgent 3 shot which I've spent the last few weeks writing. It features some themes which are slightly more serious than stuff I've previously written, namely masculinity and emotions. I'm a person who uses this hobby of writing as a form of self-expression and to explore these kinds of situations and how certain characters will respond is interesting to me as a guy who shares the similar sentiments to the ones portrayed. Bullshit aside, yeah, this is me projecting myself a lot but I've finished this and I'll share it here. 
> 
> The first chapter is noticeably shorter than the rest. I suppose it acts as a slight prologue to what type of story this will be as there is a lot of conversing. There's no smut in this as I didn't feel like it was needed nor did it fit into what I wanted to portray, however there are scenes that show an intimacy between Kapkan and Glaz.
> 
> You don't necessarily have to read the chapters in order, there isn't a whole lot of continuity between the parts so feel free to tackle this as you wish.

Maxim couldn’t remember the last time he was in love, the last time when he looked towards someone and felt anything more than just sexual desire. He was a sporadic man, never tied down to anyone or anything, always on the move. He was accustomed to hookups, the instant gratification without any kind of emotional baggage to follow him where he went and now that he had grown too used to it, sentimentality towards someone else was a concept too foreign. He would have to relearn the slow tempo of love again.

Love was a long process indeed, even if the beginnings of their relationship was filled with a fiery passion. The transition from having meaningless sex with people he could hardly remember the names of, to making love to a man he had desired for such a long time was an extreme change in pace although Maxim never felt like he was being tied down in any way. In fact, he appreciated the leisure and tranquility of having someone familiar. It was nice to have someone who was constant, who remembered how he liked to be touched to where it felt best, and in turn he always knew what Timur enjoyed as well. 

However, relationships weren’t all about sex and the occasional, obligatory dinner date. He realised that quickly after dating Timur. 

Timur saw things in a different light. In fact, Maxim felt as if his world was black and white when they laid in bed and had long, winding conversations about anything that crossed their minds in the late evening. It made him realise the different perspectives on life and challenged his own beliefs, ideas which had been cemented in his mind.

They left the lamp on long after they had recovered from their climax. Warm, clammy bodies remained closely pressed together. Timur had wedged his thigh between Maxim’s and the contact was oddly comfortable. They were still awake with no indication of any desire to sleep soon. 

After a few months of dating, the sex they had wasn’t the kind with an explosive end that left them slipping into a deep slumber. Now it was slower, yet more sensual and Maxim realised it was more satisfying to take his time. Making love was a far different process that went beyond the regimental steps of doing some foreplay before fucking. Physical satisfaction was one thing, but Timur taught him that it didn’t have to be completely serious. They laughed, tried out strange positions, explored aspects of themselves that they didn’t think they would enjoy. When emotions were high, Maxim didn’t feel threatened by it for the first time in a long while. In fact, he embraced it. From the soft exchanges of ‘I love you’ out of the blue to the sudden smiles when they pulled away from their kiss, holding each other as close as they can.

Their skin was cold without the duvet covering their bodies but Timur preferred it that way. He often noted the beauty of the naked body, pointing out how the light of the room complimented the contours of certain muscles and in all honesty, Maxim never quite thought of it in that way. He trailed his finger along said contours, a gentle demonstration of how the defined curve on his bicep was pleasing to the eye to his obliques that paired nicely with his broad shoulders to form the aesthetic of the male physique. Then he tiptoed it along his chest, the pads of his finger skittering over the dark hairs on his skin and pressing against the goosebumps that had risen.

Timur propped his head up slightly and smiled languidly towards him. “And you never believe me when I say you’re beautiful.” He took the playful jab and pursed his lips then reached over to the bedside table for his mug of chamomile tea which had cooled over time. He grimaced slightly at the unexpected temperature.

“ _O_ _h_? It’s not that I don’t believe you,” Maxim responded suavely, cocking his brow. “I’m just not used to being called beautiful.”

Now his fingers had reached his clavicles after following up the meanders of his pronounced veins on his arms. His hands were always roaming, studying every aspect of Maxim’s body like he was afraid to forget the sensation of it. He allowed his palm to rest against the top of Maxim’s pectoral before a change in his mind made him decide to slide the smoothness of his hand up his neck, along the sharp angle of his jawline to cup his stubbled cheek.

“Yes, because you prefer being called handsome,” Timur acknowledged and pressed his lips against his chest. Then he took a breath in and glanced towards the clock to see how much longer they could talk before they would reluctantly turn the lights off and sleep. “But you see, I’m coming from a different perspective. If I look at a landscape, I can say it’s beautiful. When I say you’re beautiful, I’m simply looking at you from an artist’s point of view. Beautiful as in pleasing to the senses or the mind aesthetically. I don’t mean to emasculate you, if that’s what is happening.”

“What about when you’re looking at me from _Timur’s_ point of view?”

Timur gave a teasing hum, pretending to think. “Mmhm, I still think you’re beautiful. And this is not simply because you look good,” he said. His mouth parted as if he wanted to elaborate, but the longer he studied him, he decided it wasn’t needed.

It was not often that Maxim would get flustered or blush and Timur mentally snapshotted this memory. His brow nearly quirked upwards at being complimented in the same manner again and he tried to play it off coolly, chewing the inside of his cheek and looking elsewhere. He shifted and reached towards his own bedside table, retrieving his pack of cigarettes but he was careful not to disturb their comfortable positioning. 

Timur shifted in accordance, wriggling his thigh a bit closer so it was pressing against him where he was now flaccid. It was this sort of intimacy that Maxim hadn’t encountered in a long time and he could tell that Timur was now testing his boundaries of how close he was allowed to get, whether he had jurisdiction within Maxim’s comfort zone. It was amusing how before, Timur was light footed and careful not to be too intrusive, cautious with his walls built up high around himself. Now he was completely naked, physically and emotionally. 

With a cigarette between his lips, Maxim glanced down at him. “I think,” he said then paused to light it, thumb hastily toying at the flint of his Zippo. “I think you’re a bleeding heart. You’re an artist after all.”

“Yeah, I’m a romantic and a dreamer.” Timur rolled his eyes and prodded a finger against Maxim’s chest, tracing over an old keloid scar. “Beautiful is not an adjective reserved for just women, Maxim. Perhaps your definition of beautiful is for a petite woman with luscious hair and full curves. For me, it’s a man who has those perfect proportions and his _imperfections_ that make him all the more unique. It’s also the stubble you grow over several days because you’re too lazy to shave and when you get cowlicks from sleeping with wet hair. How your hands are so rugged and manly, covered in scars and calluses, the way the sinews in your arms flex when you make your fly fishing tackles… and I love it when you’re playful, when you mess around and get cheeky towards Mike. God, when you’re tenacious about your kills and you keep pursuing until it’s over, it’s breathtaking. Y’know, I think that’s fucking beautiful- I think you’re beautiful and I love you. I really do.”

Stunned into smiling silence, Maxim exhaled the smoke in his lungs then tapped the ashes into the glass ashtray. He leaned down to kiss Timur’s buzzed head. “I love you too, poet,” he mumbled back then his hand caressed his cheek affectionately. “You’re too sweet.” A thought piqued his interest and the corner of his lips twitched upwards, then he cocked a brow and added, “like honey.”

When Timur’s expression brightened with a grin, his cheek filled his palm and he leaned into his touch, nuzzling his face against it. His skin was smooth and pale, without blemish like polished marble. A pause settled between them and in this time, Timur was studying him, his wavering eye contact searching for something. 

Maxim’s intuition told him there was something to be said. He parted his mouth, allowing the smoke to slowly drift out as he exhaled. It curled upwards, spiralling. His blue eyes returned to gazing at the ceiling and his face was poised, the usual tension in his brows bringing them into a moody furrow had relaxed. Now he looked like he had not a care in the world, but he was waiting to listen as he took the last few drags of his cigarette.

“I feel… I feel like you’re afraid to be sensitive. Vulnerable, even,” Timur finally said. It had been a thought held inside himself for quite a while now, though not one that stemmed from resentment or hurt. It was a simple observation, a statement. Maxim hummed to acknowledge him and prompt him to elaborate. “For a guy that enjoys psychology, you seem to lack introspect.”

Maxim thought about it as well and considered it. “No, I do notice. I just don’t do anything to change it,” he answered, scratching his five o’clock shadow. “I’ve always preferred to keep things to myself, it feels safer.”

Over time they began to shift some more. Maxim eventually found himself belly down, cheek pressed into his firm pillow while Timur ran his palms along the length of his back. It was always a soothing sensation, one which he loved and found immense comfort in. 

“It must get isolating, no?” Timur proposed as one strong hand began to knead and massage the muscles at the base of his neck, slowly descending down the smooth plane of his back. Maxim let out a pleased groan at the knots being eased out. “I understand why you’d keep things to yourself, but sometimes reserving your emotions like that mean you don’t take the time to appreciate how you really feel, it’s not just keeping a lid on the bad shit. You deserve to love and to feel loved.” 

It had been so long since Maxim experienced this kind of affection that it felt new to him. His body tingled with a warm sensation and he released a contented sigh, an eye cracking open to glance up at his lover. “I know what you mean. It’s ingrained in me, y’know? Perhaps I’ve never been within a role in a relationship where I felt like my feelings mattered, or that they were acknowledged at all,” he mused. Although in hindsight, all his previous relationships were rather short-lived, and any which came close to a long-term relationship ended in a horrible, dysfunctional mess. “I don’t know, Timur. It’s just how it is.”

Timur’s hands pressed down with the right amount of pressure, working out the tension in his shoulder. He did this absently in the same way a bird preens its mate. “That’s alright, I don’t expect you to be immediately comfortable spilling your deepest secrets and thoughts with me,” he said and chuckled, the tone of his voice soft, a sign of weariness- or was it simply him being tender? “But you know, I let you come inside me, so talking about your feelings or what makes you happy isn’t a huge step away. Don’t feel like you don’t matter, the last thing I want is for you to resent me.”

Maxim found it ironic, as in this day and age, strangers would gladly let another stranger ejaculate inside them than discuss their feelings. However, it seemed like bringing up past flings wasn’t the best thing to talk about so he pushed the thought away.

They laughed about it, but Timur was serious. For him, a relationship wouldn’t be right if there was only physical intimacy. It was important for both parties to engage in emotional intimacy, even if it was a small as being able to start these sorts of conversations and think about what was being said. Of course Maxim had taken in all of it and he figured over time it would be easier for him to open up. He desired a closeness with Timur, even if his learned solidarity would try to sabotage it. 

The conversation came to a steady close. Maxim rolled onto his back and coaxed him to lay down as well by draping his arms around Timur’s muscular stature and pulling him close. When he felt the slight tickle of Timur’s bearded jawline brushing against his chest, his body growing lax against his own and the hairs on their legs grazing, he sensed it was about time they headed to sleep. He reached over to close the lamp and allowed his lingering thoughts to fade into the heavy darkness.


	2. Consideration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A hunting trip takes them back to Russia and a conversation follows their heated evening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A warning, this chapter is 6.8k so a fair jump from the last one (warming you up because the third is like 11.7k) It isn't as serious, much more light-hearted and domestic with some intimacy at the end. . It is a tad bit NSFW but nothing too scandalous.

Rhythmic rumbles jostled the train carriage as it slipped down the winding tracks of the Russian countryside. Timur sat across from Maxim and busied himself with his small leather-bound book which was filled with scribbles and sketches. For a while the scenery and landscape kept him occupied but over the multiple hours of their journey, the passing fields grew to be endless, monotonous stretches of white snow and he regressed back to drawing Maxim. His sleeping face, his disgruntled expression when he was awoken by a screaming child bolting down the corridor, the embarrassed smile that bloomed across his face when he caught Timur snapping a quick Polaroid. 

Several years ago, Maxim had bought a small piece of land in Siberia, nestled not far from the Arctic Circle where he had fallen in love with it when he was stationed there. For a brief vacation, they decided to travel there to hunt and have time to themselves. 

With another hour left, he rummaged in his pocket for his nicotine gum and the postcard he bought at the airport. He chewed in deep thought for a few moments, brows furrowed tight and his concentration pulled taut like a string as his thoughts churned in his head. Without being asked, Timur offered him his pen and smiled at how he had disturbed his trance. 

He stretched out his legs and his foot nudged Maxim’s under the table, then out of habit, he left his leg touching. “Who’s that for?” He asked and observed as Maxim began to write. One thing he adored was his handwriting. He never expected him to have such neat cursive, seeing as Maxim was always radiating an aura of masculinity that it was surprising to watch him scribble in uniform print that was without fault. In fact, it was always funny between them that Timur had writing that resembled hieroglyphics while Maxim’s could be mistaken for typography.

“My father,” said Maxim, still chewing away at the gum to get his fix of nicotine. “I always send him a postcard when I go to places. We both prefer it over a phone call.” 

It was the tiny things like this which reminded Timur that while he felt like he was close to Maxim, there was so much more to discover about him. He knew vague things about his family, how he was the eldest of three but he never knew if he was particularly close to his brothers, or the magnitude of the Christmas dinners when all the family came together, which side of the family he preferred. There was everything to know about him and Timur would spend hours listening to him talk about himself if he could. 

“And what are you writing?”

“About you.”

“About me?” Timur raised a brow but his eyes remained trained on him instead of looking down to see what was being written. “Why?” 

For a couple seconds, no response came. Maxim wrote in fervent concentration and hastily finished off the sentence he was writing before he looked to acknowledge him. “Well, generally I tell him what’s been going on in my life,” he said and his deadpan expression eased into a languid smirk. “Dating you had been a pretty significant moment in the past few months, definitely the best part too.”

This sort of sentimentality was as far as Maxim was capable of going, those witty yet affectionate quips that never failed to make Timur beam back at him. He would never elaborate in depth like Timur did, but his love still showed through in other ways.

The warmth of the train made them drowsy. When it reached the stations and they hauled their bags, disembarked in a hurry to stretch their lethargic legs. The air was so sharp and cold that their lungs ached as they breathed in. The exposed station platform was covered in a thick sheet of snow which their footprints disturbed as they rushed to shelter. While England was never known for amazing weather, it was never this cold and both of them had forgotten the harshness of Russia. 

The small town they arrived in was illuminated by streetlights in the dusk of the early afternoon. Maxim told him that he had a friend who offered to meet them at the convenience store and drive them to his cabin, so they made their way to the store which appeared to be one of the very few in the tiny settlement. They purchased the essentials, alcohol and cigarettes, some canned foods and snacks, a stamp for the postcard. By the time they left, there was an old pickup truck on standby at the doorway. 

The driver recognised Maxim and waved towards him. “Nice to see you again!” He called out and beckoned for them to get inside. The warm air blasting from the AC embraced them as they crammed into the single row of seats, leaving their bags of purchases under the tarp of the cargo bed. “I see you have a guest, that’s quite unusual. I suppose you’re not married yet, huh?” 

Maxim forced a laugh and rubbed his hands to warm them. “This is my _friend_ , Timur,” he explained then glanced over to him. “Timur, this is Luka, a past colleague and also dear friend of mine.”

Luka gave a gruff chuckle and pressed on the gas. He was just as Maxim had remembered, although much fatter now that the family life had consumed him and he left the army long behind. The truck began to slip down the icy roads, moving at a steady pace over the unstable path that was bumpy with debris. “That’s generous to say,” he said and snorted. “Maxim and I used to hunt all the time back in the days, but ah… life happens. I retired, I have a family now, and Maxim has his career. It’s nice to see you’ve found someone to fill in my spot. Being alone out there isn’t good for the soul.”

Maxim hummed in response and his thoughts stirred at that brief sentence. Solidarity was all he had known in his life as love was always hard to come by. Love was a lifelong dedication, something he had to nurture and take care of in order for it to thrive and for the longest time he had not met anyone who made it feel like it was worth the effort and energy to invest in. With Timur, Maxim hadn’t desired it so strongly until now. He found someone who understood his career, who was compatible with it and with himself, then to top it all off, someone who balanced his weaknesses. Every single intuition and instinct in his body yelled at him that Timur was _the one,_ even though he never quite believed in the idea of soulmates. 

“Yeah, I’m glad to have the company,” he responded and he caught how the corners of Timur’s mouth fleeted upwards at the comment. Then he returned to watching the endless stretch of white road ahead. “So how are the kids?”

The small talk successfully diverted attention from discussing matters that were too philosophical. Maxim reserved that time for later in bed. He allowed Luka to drone on about his newborn daughter and they laughed over the small quirks of raising children even though he himself had no idea what it was like. While he was grateful for Luka’s generosity of driving them to his cabin, a part of his soul wished that the entire trip could only be of himself and Timur. No cashier to eye them oddly for buying condoms, no one to eavesdrop on intimate conversations or for their overbearing presence to pressure them into silence in fear of outing themselves. Perhaps he was greedy, but he simply wanted this time to love and only love. 

It took another ten minutes before the truck took a sharp left turn up a hill. At the base of the hill, the headlights shone over the metallic beam of a letterbox that had a steady peak of snow over it. The engine rumbled as the vehicle strained up the incline. He pulled over and reversed it so the trunk was facing the door. 

Their feet sank into the soft snow to the ankle and left heavy imprints. Maxim’s heart filled with a nostalgic joy of home and he trudged to the cargo bed, released the tarp and began to haul their luggage down. Timur was quick on his feet and strong as always, he handled the load without issue and placed it all on the porch. Their efficiency had Luka impressed. By the time he had stepped out of his truck, they had all their bags sitting on the porch and were in the process of transporting the dry firewood into the cabin.

Maxim fumbled with his keys as the icy weather stiffened his joints. He gave the door a firm push and felt around for the light switch, his muscles memorising exactly where it was. The lights inside flickered for a good moment before illuminating the room with a steady orange glow. 

“Ah, I’m not as fit as I once was, huh?” Luka gave a loud guffaw as he huffed and puffed, helping them move in the firewood to the utility room in the back. When they were all done and standing by the large living room, a silence sat heavily upon them. Timur interested himself with the decor to avoid the social awkwardness of forced interaction and Maxim debated what to do. “The weather is still dreadful, but it’s been warming up these few days. I suppose the two of you plan to go hunting?”

“Yeah, hopefully.” Maxim gave a curt nod and read the look on his face to be one that hoped they would sit down for a bit, share a few fingers of whiskey and talk about the old days. Although he felt as if they had drifted too far from one another and prolonging this interaction would be too painful for everyone involved, so Maxim kept it brief. “If not, we’ll just drink the week away. We have enough booze to keep us sorted.”

“I saw you got some nice stuff there, don’t have too much fun without me,” he joked and they exchanged laughter, the kind that was authentic enough to sound genuine but an instinct between them knew it wasn’t real. “So how long have you two known each other?”

“We met on the first day of the job,” Maxim said and it became second nature to give Timur a languid smile, one that suggested they were more than familiar with one another and he didn’t even realise that he had done it. It was an automatic behaviour at this point. “Timur’s a good shot. Ten times better than me, you’d hate to see it.” Then like he had remembered something, he cleared his throat and looked back at Luka. “Anyways, we should get sorted for tonight. Thanks a lot for the ride, man. I owe you one.”

The lingering and apprehensive stare from Luka only made him more guarded. Perhaps he was radiating with an energy that told him his presence wasn’t wanted, Luka became hesitant and lost for words. “Well, erm… like I said, it’s nice to see you again. We should catch up sometime. If you need me, you know where to find me and I’m just a call away,” he said and forced a polite smile, his gaze turning towards Timur and studying him. “Be safe, you two. And it was nice to meet you, Timur.”

“You too, Luka,” Timur addressed him back in the same manner, the tone of his voice retaining a warmth that was reserved in situations that were in dire need of social lubrication. 

Maxim showed him to the door, waved goodbye and watched as the beat-up truck disappeared down the hill and the bright beams of its headlights were engulfed by the dark night. He peeled himself away from the windows, fixed the curtains over them to insulate the cabin and turned to find Timur giving him an inquisitive look.

He chose not to address it but decided to open the small furnace and begin lighting a fire to introduce some heat to the space. Once he established a smouldering flame, he focused on maintaining it, feeding it kindling then introducing larger pieces of wood. He heard the old wood floor creak near him as Timur approached.

“An old friend, hm?” He questioned and began to strip off his heavy jacket, leaving it on the couch. “Didn’t sound like it. You seemed almost annoyed by him too, is everything alright?”

Maxim gave a grunt and held his hands over the fire for a few seconds then he shrugged. “Yeah, he’s a nice guy but I don’t like it when someone tries to get too close like that,” he said. “Maybe I’m just an asshole, you tell me.”

Timur hummed and thought about it for a while, not because he was unsure whether to be truthful or what to say, but because he wanted to give him an objective opinion of the matter. “Well, I could tell you wanted him gone. You sounded pretty closed off,” he admitted and squatted down next to him to feel the warm caress of the dancing flames against the skin of his cheeks. 

He was right and Maxim wondered if he owed Luka an apology for his behaviour. He looked down at his snow-covered shoes and how a puddle was melting onto the floor. “I think he knows… there was just something about him, he’s probably suspected for a long time and then that comment about marriage,” he mumbled and trailed off, his thoughts clouding his mind with worry but he shook his head. “It doesn’t matter, like I said, he’s a good guy, he won’t do anything about it. I don’t like to take those kinds of risks, though.”

They spent a large portion of the evening reclaiming the dusty cabin which they had lost to time and cobwebs. As they swept the place down, the heat from the furnace dispersed and it became much more bearable, cosier. Timur understood now why Maxim liked this tiny place as it was rather homely with the antique rug on the floor and a taxidermied bear head hanging from the wall over a small television. 

Soup heating on the stove, Maxim wiped his hands clean and looked back to the living room to see Timur squatted by one of the cabinets. He had a smile on his face then he pulled out one of the records and admired the cover of it. 

Not wanting to make his presence known, Maxim continued to watch where he stood and the butterflies in his chest swirled, revitalised with newfound energy. For several moments, Timur traced his finger along the list of songs on the back of the cover, reading them then he stood, glanced around and found the record player by the television. He gave a soft puff and blew away the blanket of settled dust then with a careful and steady hand, he lifted the tone arm. His movements were of utmost caution as if he was afraid to break anything, treating this cabin like it was Maxim’s holy ground. Even the dust was sacred, he would not disturb it too harshly. 

The warm tones of jazz filled every crevice of the room when Timur got the record player to work. At first Maxim was surprised it was functional, all the technology in the place was practically outdated and he never bothered to fix it up as he was never home. Their eyes met across the room and Timur’s lips curved into a smile, searching for approval on Maxim’s amused expression.

A quirked brow was all Timur received, all which he expected. Maxim was never one to be wholly expressive of his emotions, he maintained a poised demeanour which could easily be mistaken for unhappiness. Although Timur learned how to read him and through his stoic face he could read the subtleties, from the slightest tension of his facial muscles pulling the line of his lips into a curve ever so slightly, or when his eyes narrowed in that playful manner he grew to love so much. 

They served dinner and cosied up on the couch with a blanket over their laps. The television struggled to find signal for a few minutes before they had access to some soap opera which added to the ambient sound of the cabin. Canned soup was never destined for greatness and Maxim supplemented it with some spices and vegetables. As they ate, he looked forward to the hunting they would do over the week. He craved a good venison steak. 

Once the night drew closer and they had an ample amount of whiskey in their bellies, they decided it was best to sleep for tomorrow. The old covers were changed for a plush, new set and they wasted no time stripping off their layers. Timur left a t-shirt on as he was sensitive to the cold, but Maxim didn’t hesitate for a moment to reduce himself down to nothing but his boxers. He walked around without a care, not a single goose-bump on his skin and the cold draught from the crack in the window didn’t phase him.

They settled under the duvet and Timur hugged him close to retain heat. He nestled his face in the hairs on Maxim’s chest and his breath ghosted over the raised scar across his pectoral. His arms enveloped his midsection in the same manner a child would clutch a security blanket in their sleep, Timur was always one for physical affections where it was possible.

Soon enough, they fell asleep to the quiet whistle of the winter air slipping through the cracked window, how the snowfall grew heavier and hail pattered against the roof with a satisfying percussion. The noise of the urban city was now a distant memory and they were eclipsed in true silence and absolute darkness.

* * *

  
  


Daylight was still sparse in this time of year. Maxim made sure to wake up early to make the most of the day and when he blinked awake at six o’clock, he was reminded that this was the first time he slept within someone’s arms under the roof of this cabin. He rubbed his hands over Timur’s firm bicep then with a smile on his face, he traced his fingers over the features of his face and took enjoyment in how his expression crinkled with annoyance as he stirred. 

The unusual contact was effective in waking him up. Timur swallowed thickly when he opened his eyes, staring blankly up at Maxim then he mumbled something under his breath and rolled to his other side.

“Five more minutes,” he requested and had closed his eyes again. 

The springs in the mattress squeaked as Maxim slipped out of bed. He tucked the duvet snuggly around him and leaned into press his lips against his temple. Seeing as time was passing faster than he would’ve liked, he decided to start making breakfast and had a pot of coffee brewing. 

When it came to love, Maxim enjoyed the act of taking care of someone else. It wasn’t a matter of servitude or feeling like he was obligated to do such things, but the idea that they were together and he enjoyed the responsibility of making sure that Timur was happy, protected and safe. Unlike him, he could not fully express his affections in words. His love came through practicality and small gifts, from making sure Timur was satisfied to fixing the leaky tap in their apartment without being asked, being the only one to remember to do the groceries but also buying extra snacks because he knew Timur would be touched by the gesture. 

The aroma of bacon and eggs filled the kitchen when Timur finally got up. The loose floorboards creaked as he approached and he encircled Maxim’s waist, sweater sleeves brushing against bare skin and he pressed against him close, his crotch making contact with his backside, although in a non-sexual manner. He smelt of toothpaste when he pushed onto the tips of his toes and kissed along the stretch of skin on Maxim’s neck. His stubble was growing in thick now, like sandpaper when he rested his chin on his shoulder. 

Maxim reached back and gently touched the side of his leg to acknowledge him. He began to plate the cooked food and rinsed two mugs. 

“Eat up, can’t have my best sniper missing his shots, hm?” He gave a cheeky grin and brought the plates to the dinner table.

Timur sat down. “I never miss, what are you talking about?”

Within the hour they got prepared for the day and Maxim retrieved the old hunting rifle from the utility room where it collected dust in its case. He snagged the box of spare ammo, remembered to bring water and snacks then secured a sturdy knife in its holster. They dressed in light, waterproof clothes to blend into the snow-laden environment of the Siberian forest. 

As they trudged into the trees, Timur examined the gun and peered down the foggy sight. It was definitely old and hadn’t been used in years, much different to the rifles he was used to which were calibrated precisely and sturdier with state-of-the-art thermal technology. Although there was something satisfying from using such a rustic weapon without all the fancy attachments to help him line up the perfect shot. He would have to rely only on himself and his skills.

Along the way, Maxim taught him how to set traps to catch rabbits. They peppered them along the trail they took. In the case that they don’t kill anything too substantial, a few rabbits would keep them satisfied for the evening. Although he had joked that they were reliant on Timur to land his shots, otherwise dinner would be a mixture of bland soup and nutrition bars.

The forest stood still around them, trees with naked branches reached towards towards the light and were frozen beautifully in time. A light mist of snow fell upon them and the view was breathtaking, like one from a movie. Timur captured the scene with his polaroid camera and he examined the photograph before he stowed it away safely in his pocket and jogged lightly to catch up again. Then a passing thought had him lagging behind a few paces. He shot a few candids of Maxim, admired them for a few seconds and enjoyed the tiny simper of embarrassment across his moody face when he knew that he was being photographed.

The way he stood with his weight leaning on one hip, hands tucked into his pocket. His clothes were loose-fitting yet he pulled it off too well and he looked towards him almost dazedly, always feigning disinterest as if he was too cool to be posing for photos. Yet little did Maxim know that he was subconsciously doing it and Timur loved his suave behaviour, how he emanated with charisma without effort. Internally, Timur complimented his form, how he moved at the right times between each click of his camera and the little roll of his eyes when he heard him snigger. _Beautiful,_ he thought to himself as he looked over the photos.

They halted at the top of a hill overlooking a vast, white plain. Maxim produced a pair of binoculars and squatted down low. Sensing that he had seen something, Timur loaded the hunting rifle and chambered a round. He mounted the rifle on a fallen log and readied his icy hands.

“Your one o’clock, you see where the trees begin to clear by the frozen lake?” Maxim began to describe. “Two by the stump.”

“Yeah, I see,” Timur murmured back and he felt himself smiling again. He mocked exasperation and tutted his tongue in good jest. “You suck at spotting and describing things… it’s two o’clock- and that’s a _rock_.”

“That’s why I’m not a spotter. When I hunted with Luka, he didn’t say a single word. I took a few shots, missed probably all of them, then he would try the next time we saw a target.” Maxim laughed under his breath, still looking through his binoculars.

Timur tightened his jaw and stilled his body. He kept his sights trained on the larger buck and took the eastwards wind into consideration as he lined up the shot. His target grazed on the grass that sprouted from the bed of snow then sniffed at a tree, wandered two feet to the left and inspected the foliage once more, dipping its head down. Aiming for centre mass, he made another fine adjustment to compensate for the slight movement. 

A shot rang out and echoed across the forest when he squeezed the trigger. The bullet slammed into the buck’s flank, spilling hot blood onto the ground as it panicked and tried to flee. The rest of the pack had dashed, scattering into the cover of a thicket of trees while the injured animal staggered. Timur pulled the bolt, ejected the empty cartridge then slammed it back, chambering another round. He cleaned up his first shot with another, landing the next shot into the buck’s ribs. This shot had immobilised it and its great stature plunged into the snow.

“Good shot,” Maxim said, an impressed smirk across his face as he watched Timur rise to his feet. “It’ll take the both of us to drag that thing home.”

They wasted no time scaling the incline to get to their kill. As they approached, Timur could make out the staccato twitching of the buck struggling for life. It was barely hanging on. There was little point in letting the animal suffer any longer. He hoisted the rifle into his grip once again and pressed the barrel between its eyes. Another loud crack of a shot firing off, the sharp kick of the rifle and the deer stopped writhing. More blood continued to spill out from there the bullet entered and Timur examined the mess he had made then looked up at Maxim who nodded towards him. 

The hot cartridge disappeared under their feet, melting a deep chasm into the snow. Timur reloaded the gun, slung it onto his back then helped him tie the ropes around the great buck. The act of killing an animal was much different than putting down terrorists and Timur felt almost sorrowful for being unable to land a shot that could have taken out the buck upon impact.

It would take them a good amount of time to haul the buck home. They dragged it for a portion of the way until they were out of breath, muscles straining for a break so they took one by a running river and sipped at the clean spring water. Maxim rummaged and unwrapped a granola bar. He took a large bite of it and if he wanted, he could’ve eaten the whole thing in one go, but he left a third of it and sauntered up to where Timur rested against a rock. He fed him it then stuffed the wrapper back into his pocket and settled down next to him. Testing his reaction, he rested his head against Timur’s shoulder and nuzzled his face into his neck, his icy skin brushing against where his neck was warm.

Timur tensed but once he became acclimated to the coldness, he leaned back against his touch and allowed him to remain close. He reached down for his hand and squeezed it.

“Sometimes I wish I could live like this all the time,” Maxim muttered as they listened to the soothing sound of the river water crashing against the rocks. “And forget all the fucked up shit about this world, y’know? But if we were tucked away in this forest, living for only ourselves then what good is that? At the same time, I wouldn’t be able to live with the idea of knowing what is going on out there but doing jackshit about it, but damn, I’d be lying if I said being out here didn’t make me happy.”

The snowfall eased for the moment and a newfound stillness surrounded them. It was peaceful. No sudden noises to catch the attention of their twitchy reflexes. Timur put his other arm around Maxim, slinging it across his shoulders. While he was accustomed to the role of receiving affections, he noted that Maxim did enjoy a bit of indulgence once in a while, a little coddling.

“Suppose it’s better to keep what makes you happy and what gives you fulfilment separate but balanced,” Timur said, musing. 

He hummed back and rummaged for a cigarette to warm his lungs. “But work-life balance is hard,” he continued, words muffled when he sandwiched the cigarette between his lips and fiddled with his lighter. “Sure we get sick days and vacation, but we rarely take them. There isn’t much going for me in England and when we’re on the move, going to other countries we rarely have time for ourselves. My hobbies aren’t flexible like that, so when I’m not out here and I’m not working… I really only have you, Timur,” he came to the realisation and looked towards him to take in the little simper across his face. Then in a matter-of-factly tone he told him, “you make me happy. _And_ you fulfil me.” But his words were true and ardent, Timur could always see past his visage of pretending he wasn’t capable of being sentimental.

It was the short and sweet moments like these that made Timur fall deeper in love with him. It was seldom that he was verbally affectionate beyond brief compliments and the occasional tease. With every breath they sighed out white mist from their noses and Maxim would exhale light-grey smoke, letting it coil out from the corner of his mouth where it was furthest from Timur. The scent was harsh and sharp but he had grown used to it. He leaned in to kiss Maxim and appreciated the contact of his warm skin. 

Maxim kissed him back just as eagerly and let out a contented sigh. Even when they had pulled away they nestled against one another and remained in that close proximity where they kept the coldness of the winter at bay. 

He glanced down at his watch and decided that it would be more comfortable having a cuddle in the cabin than the wilderness. He stubbed out his cigarette, took a sip from his canteen then offered it to Timur. 

“We should get back before it gets dark,” he suggested as he pocketed the cigarette butt then picked up his end of the rope. “Plus I need time to butcher the deer.”

* * *

  
  


Their traps worked, they caught three hares and figured that it would provide them for dinner tomorrow night. Daylight didn’t last long and by the time they returned to the cabin and entered the side door with the massive buck, the skies were a dusky blue. Maxim sharpened a cleaver and had the deer hanging from the meat pole of the utility room. He tied the straps of his apron into a neat bow then examined the carcass to assess where he would begin with. 

Timur stood out to the side and fidgeted with his camera, snapped a few artistic shots before he noted Maxim’s smile, and captured his toothy grin, reddened nose from the cold and his sinewy arms revealed from his rolled-up sleeves.

“Don’t, I look like a psychopath,” he said with a chuckle. He smoothed his palm over the buck’s fur several times then drew his sharp blade and made a quick incision from the chest to the hipbone, quick and precise. “It looks gross now, but I assure you, it will taste heavenly.”

The guts were disposed into a metal bucket, filling the room with a visceral scent that could probably attract a pack of wolves from miles away. Timur wrinkled his nose but continued to watch, morbidly entertained by the noises and the metallic scent that wafted into every crevice of the room. Maxim worked efficiently and made sure not to waste anything or any time, setting aside the pelt to be repurposed into ghastly cushion covers or perhaps a rug. 

Within just over an hour, he managed to have the entire buck butchered. Spare meats went into the refrigerator, the hide was set aside to be worked on later. Maxim hosed down the area and the red water ran into the gutters, spilled over the edges and painted the snow a light pink. As he did so, he wore a peaceful expression on his face, not too concentrated but still focused. 

Then in the kitchen he got to work and prepared the steaks with salt and pepper, began to chop up a few vegetables. Timur helped by peeling the carrots and potatoes but he knew when it came to doing things, Maxim always preferred to do it his way and this involved him doing it by himself. Happy to watch, Timur sat himself down on the counter and offered to taste-test. As the steaks sizzled on the cast iron and the vegetables soaked up flavours, Maxim told him stories of how he had seen bears in the forest before, times when he had genuinely been spooked by noises and believed there were ghosts lurking nearby. It was silly but it made time pass leisurely.

There was something definitely attractive about a man who knew how to cook. As he flexed, the sinews in his forearms became visible, veins were nicely raised and he jostled the pan a couple times to redistribute the vegetables. For a majority of Timur’s life, he had spent it eating overcooked pasta with premade sauce from the grocery store. Now he had Maxim who was more than happy to keep him fed with good meals. 

Treating themselves to a nice bottle of red wine, they ate by the dinner table and the flashing television had them occupied for the time. Timur offered to wash the dishes when they had finished. Maxim didn’t notice he was done until he saw him padding across the TV and blocking him from seeing what was happening in the soap opera, something piqued his thoughts. He put a new vinyl onto the record player and sultry jazz filled the room then he looked towards Maxim with a playful smile.

On the brink of a food coma, Maxim reluctantly took his hand and let himself be pulled to his feet. He was comfortably lost in a haze of red wine he drank from earlier and Timur proved to be enticing when his warm body pressed against him. He took Maxim’s hands and placed them on his shoulders then he took him by the hips.

Maxim raised a brow at this particular positioning but kept his hands there, gently squeezing the thick muscles of his shoulders. “I suck at dancing, I’ll step on your toes,” he warned softly but began to move with him. His steps were hesitant and uncoordinated, it didn’t help that he drank alcohol earlier. 

“Just follow my lead,” Timur instructed and leaned in close enough for their foreheads to touch. As they waltzed across the living room, he bumped his shin on the small coffee table but they kept going, swaying to the languid beat. Once in a while Maxim had stepped on his toes but they laughed it off and found their rhythm again. 

Maxim held him close and shut his eyes, nuzzling into the side of his head to take in his scent. “I’ve never danced with a man before now that I think,” he mentioned. “Not like this anyway.”

“I’m glad to be your first,” Timur murmured back. His finger played at the belt loops of Maxim’s trousers and he guided him along with his firm grip. They danced for a while longer until something stirred within him and he grew impatient. He spun him around once then released his hips and pressed his palms against Maxim’s chest, pushing him into one of the armchairs. “I’m sure you’re more familiar with this.”

Maxim’s hands moved to wrap around his waist, an automatic gesture that he’d grown used to. He let out a contented sigh when Timur ran his fingers through his short hair and he relaxed against his touch, allowing him to press kisses along his cheek and down his neck. As he sank into the moment and closed his eyes, he let out a hum indicating a yes.

After such a long day, his entire body was weary and his mind craved sleep but the temptation of Timur’s hands easing off his jacket and running across his chest had awoken something else within Maxim. He allowed him to slowly undress him and he let him lead the way, waiting ever so patiently with his palms resting against Timur’s toned thighs. 

When the both of them were comfortably naked, clothes left in piles around the armchair, Timur took the pleasure of stroking both their cocks, his grip firm. Maxim responded keenly, groaning softly into their kiss. He pulled away to look him in the eye with a playful grin across his face.

“You’re eager,” he commented. “Why is that?”

“There’s just something hot about watching my man butcher a deer, cook it… knowing he’ll take good care of me, hm?” Timur proposed, enjoying how the possessive language appeared to flatter him immensely. 

Sitting forward now and bringing his hands around to support his back, Maxim prepared to lift him up. “Yeah, I’ll take good care of you,” he repeated softly then hoisted him up. 

It was refreshing to finally have the time dedicated to one another, get drunk on fine liquor and wines without the worry of being called to an emergency. Not that they had done anything differently, but there was a different kind of satisfaction that followed.They fucked until their bodies gave out, skin glistening with sweat, muscles rigid from strain and their breaths raspy. 

Timur peeled himself off from him and collapsed back onto his side of the bed. He closed his eyes and swallowed thickly, drawing in steadier breaths and he brought the back of his hands over his face, touching its coolness to his eyelids. For the first time, he actually felt hot inside the cabin. Under the darkness of his hands, he could sense Maxim’s presence looming closer, his lips ghosting over his skin. He knew, regardless if he responded to his provocation, Maxim would eventually draw some form of reaction out of him.

The sensation of his hand possessively cupping him between his legs made him jolt. His entire body became rigid and he shot him a look, lips slowly curving into a confused smile. As usual, Maxim did not speak a word but gently massaged his flaccid cock, taking enjoyment in how he squirmed and batted his hand away, too sensitive to bear any touch. His hand slid back up his inner thigh and a finger delved to touch the cleft of his toned ass, feeling with grotesque curiosity. This silent interaction had Timur all the more perplexed but he allowed it to happen, surprised that he himself was not uncomfortable with the unexpected contact. In fact, as Maxim inspected what he had done using his fingers, Timur widened his legs a little and observed, amused by the silent action.

Once Maxim was satisfied with the mess he had made, he leaned up to kiss Timur on the cheek as if to thank him. Timur watched him roll over to grab a cigarette and a towel, impressed by his affections and he copped a look before reaching to run his palm over his defined glutes. 

“You know,” Timur murmured, allowing him to settle down close. “I’ve always wanted to fuck you,” he admitted and watched how he was entertained at the thought. “I wanna come inside of you. Would you let me?”

Maxim raised a brow and pursed his lips in a cheeky manner. “You can damn-well try **—** " then he noticed how Timur looked towards him imploringly for an actual answer. "I’d have to think about it,” he answered smartly and passed him the clean towel.

“Have you tried it?” Timur asked, keen to hear his response.

“Yes, a long time ago.” Maxim hummed under his breath and the memories had him humbled, embarrassed even. “It feels strange and it gets messy.”

They switched off the bedside lamp but the moonlight was spilling into the room enough to illuminate every feature. The end of his cigarette glowed a magnificent orange and its ashes dotted the black ashtray like stardust. Timur chuckled and pressed his cheek against his shoulder.

“Just once. Wouldn’t be too much to ask for?”

“Maybe not,” considered Maxim, but both of them knew it yes disguised as reluctance to avoid admitting that he would be okay with it. They stared at each other for a lingering moment, wondering who was going to break first. As always it was Timur but he shook his head as he smiled, feeling naive for believing that Maxim would ever openly agree to anything that was unlike himself to do. With a change of heart, Maxim cleared his throat. “You can. I don’t mind a little mess.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've always envisioned Glaz to be vers, while Kapkan is primarily a top. Of course tastes can change and people experiment all the time, but it was something I just wanted to write about for no particular reason, I guess it's just another part of exploring this ship. As to whether I will ever write Kapkan bottoming, I don't know– if I'm ever in the mood for it I might but I may decide on writing Kapkan in a more submissive role (not necessarily bottoming) in the future. The likelihood of me writing smut in the future is not impossible but as of right now I enjoy writing other types of stories. 
> 
> a lil nut in the butt nam sayin, no biggie


	3. Catharsis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The reemergence of Maxim’s home-life finds him vulnerable. Timur teaches him to confront his emotions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the final chapter. Be warned, it is 12.5k and I didn't feel like shaving off any part of it, even if the exposition doesn't feel entirely relevant it just includes some interaction between the two and minor 'gestures' I wanted to convey because there's so much about KapGlaz to write.

Despite enjoying the intricate study of psychology, the workings of predator and prey, Maxim lacked a profound sense of introspection and he was aware of it. Emotions were always complicated to him, a world which he could never navigate. Expression was one hurdle he could never manage, though one he was desperate to leap over. Whether if it was happiness or sadness, it was never easy for him to show it. 

Timur nailed it down perfectly and it took ages for Maxim to admit he was right. He didn’t like to be vulnerable. He guarded even himself from his own happiness because losing it would leave him empty and he kept his sadness at an arm’s length to stop it from ever hurting him. Although he knew there was vast freedom if he simply allowed himself to feel for once. As to how he would manage to train himself out of his habits, he had no clue. 

For four weeks, Timur had been stationed briefly in India to train with new operatives that would be joining Rainbow in the coming months. From how Harry had briefed them, they weren’t the traditional soldiers from a special forces unit. As one of them were noted for her marksmanship, Harry saw no better than to send Timur to work with her and establish common ground. 

Maxim’s days were lonely, but he managed. Alexsandr was happy to have him over for dinner and he spent some time with Shuhrat, staying over to watch a movie with a couple other colleagues. While he was close with his teammates, he could never be himself around them like he was with Timur. Beneath his stoic demeanour, he was lively, he enjoyed messing about and being sweet towards him. He knew that it was inevitable that they would be separated at some point, no matter for how long, and he tried his best to find comfort in being by himself again but it was difficult.

When the day arrived, Maxim left work early to pick him up. He considered getting a bouquet of flowers but he felt that the gesture was unnecessary and he decided it would be better appreciated if he stopped by a fast food restaurant to make sure Timur had a bite after such a long flight. 

Rain pattered against the glass and the wipers swept across the windscreen like an old movie film cutting between scenes. People scurried across the roads hoping to find shelter and Maxim pulled up next to Timur’s familiar muscled stature, covered by his thick jacket that he wore in preparation for England’s turbulent weather. He put his luggage in the trunk and hastily got in the front seat with a relieved sigh.

“Hey,” he greeted him and leaned in to kiss him. It was chaste, his lips hardly even grazed his rough cheek- they would save the elaborate making out for later. “This for me?”

“Yeah. Your favourite.” Maxim stepped on the gas and began to drive home, noting that the shift in time zones had Timur tired. “You’ve gotten a tan.”

“Got sunburnt,” Timur corrected and chewed on a fry, then he fed him one as well. As if he had been starving for days straight, he tore the paper bag apart and pried open the box of chicken nuggets. “Did you miss me?” He asked with a grin, his tone expectant.

The red light ahead seemed to stare questionably into Maxim’s soul. He thought about it and mentally hit himself for having to ponder about his answer. “It was fucking dreadful without you,” he confessed and bit his cheek, embarrassed to even say it. “Work was boring as hell. Anyways, how was India? What’s her name… Kali?”

“India was _different,_ very interesting though. Beautiful place, I wish you were there to see it all-“ then Timur paused and rummaged in his pocket. He produced a postcard to show him. “For you.” Then he tucked it back in and returned to grazing at his meal. “Jaimini is an acquired taste. Imagine an amalgamation of Olivier without the rules, thrice his arrogance, combined with Taina’s cunningness. Eliza already dislikes the idea of her, I don’t want to see how it is when she comes to work with us.”

“Tell me about Wamai. Remember when Marius could barely contain himself seeing his gadget demonstration?”

Both of them laughed at the memory. “Mmm, yeah. He’s a lovely guy, very much like Marius but less sprightly and more composed. I think they’ll get along well,” he said with a hum. “I find it almost unfortunate that he is part of NIGHTHAVEN. Harry wants to keep them close, sure, but how long will it be until someone else gives them more money and Jaimini decides they’re better off elsewhere?”

“Then don’t get too friendly,” Maxim proposed. In his eyes, it was always better to protect oneself in the long run. “If Eliza thinks it’s a bad idea and Mike doesn’t even want to talk about it, I’m staying the hell away from it. Harry’s throwing you in there because you’re good with people, but it doesn’t mean you need to get chummy with them, y’know?”

“I suppose so. Can’t mourn the loss of a friendship that never existed,” he considered. 

The rest of the journey home was mostly silent aside from the quiet hum of the radio over the rumbling engine. At some point Timur had fallen asleep. It was only eight o’clock in England but in India it would’ve been half one in the morning, a time which he would be fast asleep, sweating like a hog on top of a thin, yellowed mattress. 

He was awakened by the sensation of Maxim running a hand through his hair which had grown considerably over the weeks. Unlike Maxim, he didn’t quite enjoy the scruffy look. Being an ugly duckling for the past days was something he begrudgingly put up with, unable to hide it under a woollen cap. 

“Shave my head?” He offered as they took the elevator to their apartment. 

They stood on opposite ends of the elevator, leaning against the metal railings. It jostled as it rose and the fluorescent tubes would flicker, even go off briefly, symptomatic of the age of the ancient apartment block which was now on its last legs. Maxim studied his appearance then nodded. 

“It would be tragic if I forget to put a guard on the clippers,” he mused and received a playful glare. “Don’t worry about it, your hair grows like grass.”

There was something satisfying, even intimate about the two of them crammed into their tiny bathroom. Timur stripped down to his underwear then sat down on a stool while Maxim fidgeted with the clippers, trying to secure a guard on it so he wouldn’t shave him completely bald. One hand occupied, he used the other to tousle his hair a bit, agitating it where it laid flat so he could get an easy shave. They made eye contact in the mirror and Maxim leaned forwards to press a small kiss on his head before he clicked the clippers on and started at the base of his neck.

Short hair was mandatory in the army. Timur stopped bothering going for a crew cut down at the barbers years ago, he’d rather buzz it off then let it grow until it became too annoying to deal with. Most of the time he was wearing a cap of some sort. He enjoyed the sensation of the vibrating clippers and how Maxim would coax his head to tilt, his warm hand cupping his jaw to keep his head back. During this time he told him about India, the mission he accompanied NIGHTHAVEN on which involved taking out a high-ranking member of the local cartel. Although what really stood out to him more was the experiences he had in the streets from strolling the markets to learning about the culture. 

For Maxim, he was never too interested in travel. When they were stationed in other countries, he usually stayed on base and visited a bar for a couple drinks. On the other hand, Timur was rife with wanderlust and he would be part of the group to go exploring on their day off, whether that be with Miles and Erik or incessantly begging Alexsandr and Shuhrat to go with him. It wasn’t until they started dating that he began to appreciate it a bit more. While he didn’t have the unwavering passion for it, he was happy to accompany him and participate in his hobby in the same way Timur didn’t shy away from learning how to skin a rabbit or gut a trout.

The way Timur spoke so passionately with such fervent interest made him smile and Maxim enjoyed the deep vibrations against his palm, the occasional bobbing of his Adam’s apple between pauses. His words spilled out in what seemed to be rambles but they were carefully chosen to capture the exact description of how he perceived it. Maxim was mystified by his ability to articulate himself, he could make mundane topics sound enchanting.

As the sound of the shower running whispered through their apartment, Maxim took this time to write a message on the postcard that Timur got for him. He noted to his father that it was specifically Timur who bought it and he hoped the gesture would play in his favour. While his father accepted him for who he was, he was always reluctant about his lovers. Regardless if he brought home a wife or a husband, he had a feeling that his father wouldn’t be the type of person to welcome them as warmly as his mother would have. Throughout his life from his childhood to adulthood, he’d never known his father to show any more than an occasional smirk but his frown was much more familiar. It wasn’t that he was upset or angry, his natural state of being was to look disapproving of everything and everyone. Hearing his laughter was rare, something that only ever happened after a few shots of vodka.

This translated strangely to Maxim. As the eldest brother of his family, he was encouraged to set a good example for his siblings and that demanded to be on his best behaviour- that was, when he was being watched. Without the presence of adults, he and his brothers got up to all kinds of mischief. There were times when they got caught, that was when he learnt how to perfect the technique of masking emotions whether that be the hilarity of getting yelled at to biting back the tears of oldschool corporal punishment.

To be expressive of his thoughts and feelings became difficult as he matured. Showing affection, even the platonic kind, felt too risky when he was desperate to hide his attraction towards men. Then when it came to courting women, Maxim couldn’t shake off his own ideas of the heteronormative relationship. His mind told him that as the man, he was supposed to keep everything to himself regardless of how bad it could get. He would brunt the force of his mental turmoil, believing himself to be strong enough to do so. 

These ideas continued to perpetuate even as he began to date men regularly. He couldn’t accept the potential of himself to be the submissive one, or even vulnerable in any way. He’d believed that perhaps his sexuality would be less shameful if he was the one on top, taking a role as expected of the ‘man’ within the relationship. It was greatly conflicting to not want to care about how others perceived his masculinity but he knew deep within that it mattered to him so much. 

Timur helped ease some of those mindsets. He wasn’t the first to do so, but he proved time and time again that even if he was seen in society as the submissive partner, it did not change who he was as a man. He had hobbies that weren’t considered to be traditionally masculine, he always had an appreciation for the arts and music but regardless of that he was confident in who he was, he didn’t feel a need to compensate for anything. There were times when he was crude, boisterous in his actions- times when he was quite the troublemaker even nowadays- and then instances where he could be tender, sensitive to emotions in ways that had Maxim threatened by his own vulnerabilities.

Where he was rigid in his ways, Timur provided a number of perspectives that Maxim never knew he would appreciate. At first when they met in the early days he thought Timur was simply one of those guys who could be friendly with anyone, but now he realised that it was more than that- he had an impeccable ability to observe and sympathise. He was quite the social chameleon, able to blend into whatever environment he was placed in.

The way he could see past his facade, all the _bullshit_ Maxim partook in to hide his true emotions like laughing off serious matters to pretending his problems didn’t exist, was wonderfully frightening. It was rare to find someone who cared. He never regretted kissing him that evening. 

The bathroom door opened with a squeak and Timur padded into the bedroom with nothing but a towel around his waist. He glanced over to spot Maxim still writing, using the cover of one of his books as a hard surface. As he smeared some moisturiser on his skin, he watched him in the mirror.

“What are you writing this time?” He asked, then paused. “Am I allowed to ask that?”

“Yeah, I don’t mind,” Maxim answered after a brief moment of thinking. He read over his paragraph then cleared his throat and reached for the cigarette he lit moments ago where he had left it smouldering in the ashtray. “I’m writing about you, since you bought the card. Last time I mentioned I was seeing you, he acknowledged it and now I’m just telling him how _great_ you are,” he explained and gave a little smirk.

“Wow, I’m flattered.” 

Timur threw the towel into their laundry basket then hastily got in bed. It had been weeks since they felt the warm contact of their skin pressed against each other and neither of them knew how addictive it could be until the withdrawal of loneliness kicked in on the third day. Like a needy cat, Timur settled down close and nearly draped himself over Maxim’s body, embracing him firmly for a good few minutes to acclimate himself to his muscular body. He took this time to take in his scent again, even if it was the choking _stench_ of his menthol cigarettes but the suffocation brought back a little rush. He sucked in a deep breath until his chest fully expanded, shoulders rising up to take in as much as he could and he held it in, tense all over. As he sighed it out he ran his palm along his side, his light touch ticking Maxim’s ribs.

Maxim had set the postcard and book aside, dropped his half-smoked cigarette into the ashtray and wrapped his thick arms around him too. He nuzzled his face against his freshly buzzed head and enjoyed the softness it against his cheek. His palms ran along the smooth skin of Timur’s back where it was pleasantly cool then he reached a little lower to cup his glutes. There wasn’t anything heated about their touch, they only craved the contact alone which flooded their bodies with all kinds of endorphins they had been aching for. 

It wasn’t as if they were apart for particularly long nor have they been dating for years but they knew each other as if they were old lovers in another lifetime. 

“God,” Maxim muttered, exhaling heavily as he shifted them suddenly. He pushed his lips against Timur’s and kissed him deep, the kind where teeth clashed and his fingers left imprints where they pressed into his thigh and his bicep. “I missed you so much,” he finally confessed, brows furrowed upwards and words laced with a longing that Timur knew so well to be genuine. Then he repeated again after a moment’s silence. “Fucking hell, I _missed_ you.”

In response to that, Timur chuckled and soothed him with gentle kisses. Then when he pulled away he studied his face and caressed his cheek, lovingly at first then he pinched it playfully. “Don’t look so grumpy. Smile for me,” he implored. “You know, I love your smile. So much,” he emphasised and laughed more as a reluctant simper became a toothy grin. The way his crow’s feet deepened and how his blue eyes seemed to sparkle under the dim glow from their bedside lamp made Timur’s heart flutter. He always found Maxim’s bashful joy endearing in the rare cases he managed to come across it. “Gorgeous-“ He held his head steady when Maxim tried to turn away, his deep rumbles of laughter so hearty. “My handsome man.”

Cheeks as hot as embers, Maxim scrunched up his face and avoided his gaze. “You’re getting sappy,” he deflected. 

Sensing his squeamishness, Timur let him go and his eye caught the postcard on the bedside table. “Can I read?” He asked and received an affirmative grunt. He glanced down the neat Cyrillic and found himself smiling at the tone of candour. Maxim wasn’t one to beat around the bush so he laid it out simply, stating they had been dating for a number of months now, how they came to know each other. One part which interested him the most was that Maxim could write to his father about these kinds of things, telling him that he believed he was truly in love. “You seem close with him.”

Maxim hummed then gave an ambivalent shrug. “It’s easier to write to him than speak,” he said. “I think he feels the same way too.” 

Like father, like son. Timur put it back where it was, on top of his book then settled down once again, resting his cheek against Maxim’s pectoral. 

“I thought you were close to your parents,” Maxim then spoke up and looked down to assess if it was alright to keep conversing or whether it was best to let him rest. “No?”

“I am, my father is fine with me… y’know, liking other men but sometimes I wonder if he will think differently the day I bring someone home. If we are to be frank, I feel almost ashamed of it, like I’m disappointing him,” Timur murmured then he laughed at himself. “You already know, it’s just been my father and I since my mother passed from breast cancer. When I wanted to pursue art, he let me. I wanted to join the armed forces, he still stood by me. His love is so unyielding but I feel like I don’t deserve it. He was always keen to push me to do what I love the most. And I’m afraid of losing his _unconditional_ love. I’ve tested my luck time and time again, I don’t want to try anymore so I don’t tell him about my love life. He’s my only parent, Maxim.”

Maxim gave his bicep a firm squeeze of reassurance. “Like you said, he loves you. Seeing as he was always so supportive of you, then he trusts your judgement. And I’m sure you already know he will be by your side no matter what,” he considered.

“I guess I worry too much about what he thinks,” Timur said. “Sometimes your mind can be your worst enemy, right?” As a silence prolonged he had a shift of heart. “I assume your father accepts you.”

He inhaled as if it was a complicated matter. “Well, yes,” he said then paused abruptly. “After around… fifteen years. I was outed when I was twenty- it was disastrous. By then I was in the army and I was stationed abroad so I stopped contacting my family, or rather, we stopped talking to each other. Five years ago, my brothers contacted me and encouraged me to reconcile. So I did, but under the condition that I will not stand for my family refusing to recognise who I am. Take it or leave it, you get me?” 

He had a worn smile on his face but the sadness in his eyes showed years of heartbreak. Timur let it sink in then he asked, “what made your father change his mind?”

“He had lung cancer. Emphasis on had. When he thought he was dying he couldn’t forget about his… _beloved_ eldest son which he spent fifteen years pretending didn’t exist. _Bastard_ didn’t die, but then he realised that his faggot son wasn’t the sexual deviant he thought he was so we’re still on decent terms now.” There was sourness in his voice, justifiably so and he sucked on his teeth before he gave a sardonic chuckle. “You can tell I still hurt over it. But there’s no point lingering over the past. His health is not good nowadays and the closer he gets to death, the more he craves making the connections he should’ve made years ago. So… I just play along for the sake of everyone.”

A thought stirred within Timur. He wondered if Maxim didn’t want to admit to forgiving his father, or if there was a buried resentment in the darkest corners of his heart. In many cases, a child will continually seek out affection and love from their parent regardless of how they treated them. Perhaps this kind of love was on thin ice, yet something Maxim still decided he would invest his energy in. For the type of man who demanded respect and no less than that, it must have taken long lengths for him to return to someone who pushed him away for who he was. What led him to this point? The cravings for a father figure in his life again and the opportunity to find consolation for his fragmented adulthood? It was the strange natural bond between parent and child that drew him back, and Maxim’s forgiveness came from a place of deep anguish.

Maxim swallowed thickly then looked down at him. “Hey, you should sleep. Your jet lag is going to kick you in the ass if you don’t sort it out,” he mumbled and reached over to turn off the light.

Agreeing, Timur gave him a gentle peck on the cheek as good night and subsequently fell asleep. 

The room was cloaked in a heavy, warm darkness that could lull anyone to sleep, but for Maxim, he’d unknowingly opened a can of worms. He had laid awake for a while longer, his palm rubbing soothing circles into Timur’s back, just how he liked it while he blinked at the ceiling. 

When it was put in that way, Maxim didn’t truly recognise the many years he’d spent by himself. After so long, the passage of time became less obvious and days slipped by without much notice. Fifteen years. During that time he burnt through a number of relationships, from various men and women and he moved from job to job, stationed in all kinds of places for sometimes a month to half a year at a time. Now he settled down, he found reason to. He wondered if he would finally be able to live his life on his own terms and maintain a connection with his family. At this point he was tired of conflict but sick of having to tolerate hostile attitudes towards him. If it meant burning all his bridges in order to find happiness with the man he loved the most, so be it.

If he could last fifteen years without speaking to his family, he considered himself to be able to last the rest of his life as well. The only pain involved would be severing himself from them again, like digging a blunt razor into old scars. 

Although now was not the time to make rash decisions. They were on amicable terms at best and no one said a single word about what caused the massive schism between them. Everyone acted as if the big fight between him and his father never occurred and in the rare occasions that he returned home, usually once a year, they would ask about his work and tiptoe around the topic of relationships. Maxim didn’t know how he felt about it, or rather, how he should feel about it. A thought suggested he should be grateful but part of him understood what he deserved.

He managed to sleep for a while, dozing off at around three o’clock but not for long. At six, his phone screen illuminated the room and the roar of his ringtone caused the both of them to jolt from their sleep. Timur eased off from him to allow him to get up and he rolled over to fall back asleep. Bewildered after the idea of someone calling at this hour, Maxim squinted down at the blinding screen and saw it to be a Russian phone number. Then it sank in. His mother. He answered the phone. 

“Hello?”

“Maxim, did I wake you?” Her voice was tense and he sensed something wasn’t right. Even if nothing happened, she wouldn’t go out of her way to call him- she knew he disliked phone calls. 

Maxim sat up and ran a hand through his hair then sighed. “That doesn’t matter, what’s wrong?”

“It’s your father. He’s getting worse… and the doctor says he doesn’t have long,” she told him. The line was unstable, her words were warbled and he could make out hushed sniffles. “I think you should come home. I know you’re working but if you want to see him, you need to come back as soon as you can.”

The silence that followed filled his entire body with an indescribable sense of dread. His brain short-circuited and he couldn’t think of a response. Simultaneously there was everything and nothing happening at once in his head, leaving him in a thick haze of confusion. He hadn’t realised he lowered his phone until he noticed his mother repeating his name. 

He picked it back up and with uncanny clarity, he said, “I’ll be there.” 

Nothing else needed to be said. She hung up in the same fashion as he would have, not taking the moment to say goodbye. Maxim didn’t even know if he was going to make it, he had no idea why he was so sure, why the first instinct of his body was to respond with what he did. 

He sensed an urgency inside him even though he desired to cave into himself and avoid the responsibility or dealing with the issue at hand. This was important, more so than anything that could be happening at work. He knew the plan was to ask for time off, take the first flight to Russia to see his father on his deathbed. The child inside him wanted to ignore it all, but it would not change the reality he faced. Taking action only meant acknowledging what will soon follow and Maxim did so with great reluctance.

His father was going to die.

The thought repeated itself in his head like a broken record player and he began to fear it. It drove him delirious. The morbid side of himself rejoiced, as if to say _finally!_ in celebration of freedom from the burden of being unable to fulfill his father’s idea of what he should’ve become. Despite that, his heart was filled with sorrow and it felt as if his efforts to reconnect with his father had been wasted. 

A hand touched his back. He looked over his shoulder and met Timur’s careful gaze, the tentative look on his face as his lips parted to speak but then he decided against it and squeezed his shoulder. Maxim sighed again and swiftly lit a cigarette, sucking in the nicotine for comfort as he propped his elbow against his knee and rested his head. His nails scratched at his scalp as he laid out his options and calculated the logistics. It was a massive headache and definitely not a good start to his morning.

The room was filled with the stench of smoke and his rhythmic inhales followed by a sighing exhale. Eventually he moved to get up. The bed frame squeaked at the shift in weight then he padded across the creaky floorboards to the window where he propped it open. A wave of sobering morning air hit him and invaded the room, as well as the morning sun’s light flooding every crevice. He watched the street below their apartment which was empty at this time in the early day and found the outside chill to dispel the drowsiness of their bedroom. 

“I jinxed it, huh?” He spoke after a while, knowing Timur was still sitting up in bed and watching him. 

Maxim couldn’t decipher if his lack of response was due to not knowing what to say or a silent disapproval at his joke. They stared at each other for an uncomfortable duration of time before he stubbed out his cigarette, clearly agitated to the point of grinding it into the ash until the tips of his fingers became marred with black. He smiled again but his expression was pained as he pressed his lips into a thin line.

“It’s normal to be upset. Let yourself be upset,” Timur said, his voice was soft and calming. He left their bed and moved to take both of Maxim’s hands, holding them firmly. “I know what you’re feeling and I know that it hurts like hell. Don’t hold it back-”

Maxim resisted his touch and pulled away, placing a palm against his chest. His actions weren’t rough in any way, but he rejected the affection Timur tried to offer him. It wasn’t that he didn’t need it, but he chose to quell his storm of emotions in solitude. It was how he always did it. He retreated to the bathroom and shut the door, pretending he didn’t know Timur wanted to follow after him. A few minutes later, the sound of the shower running echoed from the closed bathroom door and Timur decided it would be best to prepare some breakfast for the both of them.

  
  


“Come with me,” Maxim had implored when they were stuck in traffic. His voice was strained, the lines in his forehead prominent now and he gripped the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles were blanched white. “I think you should be there.”

Touched, Timur looked over to him and swallowed thickly. “If you want me to,” he affirmed.

When the security at Stirling Lines allowed them through after seeing their identification, Maxim wasted no time getting parked. The only thing he wanted to do was receive the confirmation that he was allowed official time off, otherwise he would go AWOL. Once Maxim had made up his mind, there was no way of getting around his decision. Luckily, there was no major issue. While their jobs were demanding, as long as there was no immediate emergency then organising an absence did not take much convincing. 

They dipped into their savings and booked the earliest flights possible. By five o’clock they were boarding their flight and crammed into the tights seats of economy, sandwiched between a screaming baby and a disgruntled-looking businessman. 

Timur sensed that things were tense for Maxim, he was quiet for a majority of the morning. Asking how he was, or piling on affections and trying to pad him with reassurances in a time where he was volatile would not end well for either of them. Although that was all he knew to do and not being able to do any of that left him feeling useless, lost.

The last thing either of them expected about returning was Russia was that it would be under these circumstances. By the time they were taking a taxi to Kovrov, it had been hours since they ate anything. Even with some convincing, Maxim was insistent that he had no appetite to eat and Timur chose not to pester him anymore about it. He stood in his shoes before and the horrible, gripping feeling of knowing what is to come made it impossible to stomach anything. 

They took a bus to the region his parents lived. For the most part it was only the two of them sitting near the back on the double seats and Maxim allowed him to hold his hand for a while during the times once they were alone. At one point he rested his head against Timur’s shoulder and closed his eyes, worn from all the thinking. Surprised at his gentle contact, Timur looked away from the foggy windows and clasped his other hand on top of his, hoping to share his warmth. It was a silent reassurance and a reminder that he was here with him, something Maxim needed greatly. Timur had always been a source of comfort for him.

Old memories were flooding him. They carefully stepped down icy pavements along lengths of terraced houses, huddled in their thick coats to endure the bitter winds of the darkening evening. Having arrived, Maxim climbed the short flight of steps then rang the doorbell and his expression dimmed as he watched shadows flit along the blinds.

The man who opened the door shared an uncanny resemblance to him. Same grey-blue gaze, lips naturally curved into a moody frown and the angular bone structure that suggested no other than one of his brothers. His expression seemed to lighten at seeing Maxim and he stepped aside to let them in.

“I didn’t expect you to come so fast,” he commented and closed the door. “How have you been?”

Maxim stood in the hallway and studied home for a while, taking in steady breaths as he stared at the old photos framing the walls, the ancient wallpaper that was somehow still immaculate. “I’ve been better,” he muttered back then paused and sighed. “I assume things haven’t been too good here either.”

His brother shook his head and tucked his hands into his pockets. “No, the doctor has been making rounds more often. Most days he’s asleep, he has barely any energy. Sometimes he asks when you’ll be home, or he wants to write to you,” he explained, a frown on his face. “When you tell him he’s received mail, it’s almost like he isn’t sick at all. He misses you, Maxim.”

Brows furrowed, Maxim swallowed thickly and buried his guilt with other thoughts to distract himself. He noted how his brother looked towards Timur, questioning who he was. “I’ll see him when he wakes up. Ivan, this is Timur. He’s my partner,” he said and waited for that exact look of surprise that flitted across his expression. 

It wasn’t entirely unexpected. Ivan shook his hand. “Yeah, Dad told us about the postcard you sent. It’s nice to meet you, Timur,” he said and gave Timur a respectful nod. “You two should get settled down in the meantime. Here, take the spare bedroom…”

Time couldn’t move any slower. While Maxim caught up with his brothers and his mother again, introduced them to Timur and got him acclimated to the crowded life of extended family including all his brothers’ wives and their kids, there were more pressing matters on his mind. As the eldest in the family there were higher expectations placed upon him, such as being the calm one who had everything under control. Truth was, the longer it went on without him being able to say a single thing to his father, the more frustrated he grew at the situation and all he wanted to do was lash out.

He withdrew into himself, knowingly so and it was a natural reflex to defend himself. Of course it was normal to be upset in a situation like this but he did not enjoy the thought of breaking down in front of everyone. Even in the privacy of the bedroom, he was adamant that he didn’t want to talk about _it_ and Timur let it go when he pretended to fall asleep. 

The lights were off. Timur sat awake for a while longer before he put his phone under his pillow. The bed frame creaked as he shifted and he put an arm around Maxim, his palm sitting comfortably on his sternum and his face nuzzled into the back of his neck as he spooned him. The weight of his body pressing against him helped take his mind off things and Maxim tried to relax, consciously slowing his breaths and focusing on how Timur’s warmth spread, evaporating the tension soaked into his muscles. 

* * *

  
  


Timur didn’t realise how this affected him as well. It was overwhelming, perhaps anxiety-inducing to meet so many people at once. There was judgement and it was to be expected but it seemed that the family put their prejudices aside in this particular moment. Maxim’s brothers did not comment on their relationship, perhaps they chose to ignore it and treat it as a mere friendship but his mother took him in as if he were one of her own, enveloping him in a tight embrace as well once she finally got the time to see her son again. 

In the morning they had the opportunity to see his father. The bedroom was south-facing with a grand window, allowing light to flood the space but one of the curtains were drawn and half the room was cloaked in heavy shade. As they stepped inside, Timur picked up the intense fumes of disinfectant and old memories crawled out of the intricate woodworks of his mind. His throat constricted as every lungful of the scent reminded him of his own loss in the past. 

He tore his attention away from those thoughts and distracted himself by focusing on the postcards that were pinned to a corkboard secured on the wall above a writing desk. It was a beautiful constellation of colours and he recognised many of them, recalling when Maxim would spend a couple minutes in the airport of the countries they were deployed to, carefully choosing which one he wanted. 

Maxim’s father stirred in his sleep. He was a withering man, somewhere in his early seventies at this point. The sight was pitiful, but not foreign to Timur. Sunken cheeks, thinning hair, the way it took every morsel of energy to even open one’s eyes because the body was giving out- ready to give up. His father took in a rattling breath and coughed harshly but as he strained to push himself into a sitting position, his thin lips appeared to curve into a worn smile.

“Jesus, you make me crave a cigarette,” he spoke through his oxygen mask. He managed a brief chuckle before his coughing had overwhelmed him again and Maxim rushed to rub his back, reminding him to take it easy. “I was beginning to think-” he paused and drew in a deep breath. “You were _too busy_ with work.” 

It was a thinly veiled euphemism for ‘you weren’t going to come home’ and they both knew exactly what he meant. At this point in their repaired relationship, they had no energy for arguments or bickering and resorted to passive aggressive comments, but this was their way of life. Maxim’s expression flinched, hurt by the blunt statement. He sat down on the chair near the bed and put his hand over his father’s bony wrist. 

Timur took in the view in front of him, Maxim’s delicate touch which was unlike himself and the way his gaze was so attentive towards his father, devoting all his attention to him in fear of losing time. The image of them was beautiful in the most harrowing way and even when he looked elsewhere, his mind kept going back to it. 

“No, I got time off,” Maxim murmured, avoiding his gaze as he focused on the IV sticking out from the back of his hand.

“How long?”

“A week.”

“Plenty of time. I’ll be dead soon enough!” His father wheezed between his laughter but as he realised his son did not appreciate the dark humour, he fell quiet and observed him. He craned his head slowly towards where Timur stood, watching the both of them. “Ah, this is Timur? Come sit down.”

His vision wasn’t what it used to be. Maxim’s father looked at the both of them then pressed his lips into a thin line, coming to a reluctant acceptance. “I didn’t think I’d ever meet you. Maxim always hides his relationships, even when he did have girlfriends,” he told Timur. 

Maxim quickly produced the latest postcard from his pocket. “I was going to tell you about him,” he interjected. “I just didn’t get the chance to send it.”

His father put on a pair of reading glasses. “What a privilege to have it hand-delivered by Maxim Basuda himself,” he muttered as he read it. As he took his time, Maxim poured him a glass of water and set it on the bedside table. “You know, if you’re good enough for him, I should get to know you in person rather than from a piece of card,” he decided and put it aside. “Tell me about yourself.”

At first it was nerve-wracking, Timur felt as if he had a lot to live up to. He carried a conversation for a steady ninety minutes, a languid back-and-forth of questions and discussing his life and hobbies. A knock on the door interrupted them. It was Ivan, notifying them that the doctor was here to check up on his father. To give him a bit of privacy and for his brothers to have a chance to speak to him, Maxim suggested that they leave the house and have lunch at a local cafe. 

They sat across from one another. Maxim picked at his pastry and fidgeted, restless with all kinds of thoughts. Then he caught Timur’s silence and he noted how he distracted himself in his sketchbook, his downcast gaze and the small frown on his face. The gloom must’ve gotten to him by now, maybe he had also joined the train of realising what he was about to lose, but the truth was, Timur had taken this journey before.

“Funny that dying makes someone much more bearable,” Maxim spoke up, hiding his pain behind the snarky comment. Though the elephant in the room was looming over his shoulder, prodding him to ask what the matter was. “Are you okay?”

It broke Timur out of his thoughts, he set down his pencil and closed the journal over before Maxim caught that he had been drawing a memory from earlier. He cleared his throat and sipped at his coffee. “Yeah, it just hits home,” he said. Maxim hummed back, wanting him to elaborate. “Reminds me of when my mother passed. I was fifteen back then, but I remember it so well. It’s good your father can rest at home rather than a hospital though, it’s good to be close to family.”

Maxim’s expression softened. Seeing as the cafe was mostly empty and the owner was somewhere in the back, he reached across the table and touched his hand. “What’s it like? Losing a parent, I mean,” he asked. 

Timur chewed on his lip then looked towards him. “I used to forget she was gone,” he said and let out a small chuckle, shaking his head at himself. “You don’t ever really get over it. It leaves this giant, gaping hole in your heart and nothing ever fills that void. I used to get angry because it felt so… unfair, but that’s just how life is. Eventually you learn to live with it, but this feeling doesn’t ever go away.”

The stakes weren’t as apparent until now. Maxim took in the somber look on his face and considered that he had been dealing with this for more than a decade, he understood truly how it felt. “I don’t know what to do when the time comes,” he admitted in a soft tone. 

“No one does.” Timur withdrew his hand as the owner drifted over to them, wiping at some tables with a clean rag. She refilled their coffee then continued on, orbiting around them as she cleaned and mopped the floors. “It’s going to hurt, even if you try to prepare yourself for it. But you need to let yourself feel this kind of pain, Maxim. If you bury it, it will eat away at you.”

Maxim furrowed his brows, looking away. “I won’t,” he said in a mumble.

“You will, it’s what you’ve been doing since you came here.” Timur’s voice was serious and stern, his words even harsher but it came from a place of love. He cared for him and there were things he needed him to know. “Don’t try to get through this by yourself. I know you’re strong but I’m concerned about you, I don’t want to isolate yourself. I need you to know that I understand what you’re feeling. I’m here for you.”

An encroaching pain in his chest reached his throat and the icy hand of remorse, of sorrow and every crushing emotion existing within him clamped down. He could barely speak a word but he managed a nod. 

That evening, Maxim held off his urge to smoke a cigarette. He didn’t want to exasperate his father’s condition so he ignored his cravings. His mother had noted he was much more energised today, it had been ages since he was last able to sit up, have a bowl of soup and hold a conversation. She urged him to speak to him as much as he could during his lucidity. While Timur spent some time with Ivan and Dmitri- his two younger brothers- he managed to spend some time alone with his father. 

When Maxim returned to his room, he was taking a nap so he entered quietly and took a seat next to the bed. The post card was still sitting on the table, though it had been moved since last time. He picked it up and pinned it onto the corkboard, filling in the column. Landmarks from every continent lined the board and he was surprised that his father kept them. He always assumed he would’ve discarded it into a drawer and forgotten about it along with all the other souvenirs he used to buy him. 

It didn’t take long for him to wake up again. Like a sniffer dog, he always knew that particular stench that was Maxim’s menthol cigarettes. The scent clung to him everywhere he went. His father told him about his brothers’ kids, gossipped breathlessly about the tiny things like Dmitri’s second divorce, how Ivan was too lax about raising his children. Even though Maxim felt like their time was running out, he appreciated the ability to have a conversation with him despite being over a topic he did not care for. His father trailed off as his attention wavered, then he cleared his throat.

“Enough about them,” he said and shakily brought a glass of water to his lips, barely able to summon the strength. Maxim got up and helped him, holding it as he took a sip. “I know this is too late to say, I probably should’ve told you years ago, but I’m proud of you. And I’m sorry that I pushed you away those years ago.”

It was foreign to hear an apology from his father, and to hear it spoken in such an ardent manner. It was then that he came to the sudden realisation that his father had never apologised for the incident years back. Maxim broke their eye contact and fidgeted with the skin around his nails as his brain worked overtime, trying to figure out what was the appropriate course of action. For all his life he’d always had everything under control, and now he didn’t know how to sit properly in his chair. When Timur told him about what is was like to lose a parent, he didn’t expect his own thoughts to begin tearing away at the hole in his heart before he even lost his father.

“I look back and I realise how ridiculous the whole thing was. Kicking you out because you like men. Then the more I think about it, how you must’ve felt for all those years, I did fuck up. I’m not mad at you when you don’t visit home. I don’t expect anything from you after what I did.” His father clasped his hand over his. His skin was cool and his hand was bony but Maxim held onto it, feeling almost childlike in the moment. “There is no way I can make this up to you, I cannot make up fifteen years worth of contact in a few days, but all I can do is tell you this. Maxim-” he paused when his son closed his eyes, brows furrowing deeper like a reaction to physical pain. He repeated, “Maxim. I won’t ever know how you feel towards me, whether you still have it within your heart to love me or if you wish I was dead, but I do love you. You’re my son, my eldest one. Regardless of who you love, it does not erase that nor does it change what you have achieved.”

It was years since Maxim last cried. He always hated the sensation, how his body felt like it was on fire as he couldn’t control what seemed like an endless stream of tears and snot. It took everything to hold his tears back, but he couldn’t hide the way his eyes glossed over. He hummed to acknowledge what his father said but he struggled to speak once again. 

“And Timur seems like a good man. Does he make you happy?”

There was a lump in his throat where every word was trapped. “Yeah, he does,” Maxim croaked and quickly wiped at his eyes.

“I’m glad you’ve found him. It’s rare to find someone you love, someone who understands your rhythm as well as you know theirs. Your mother and I may have had our fair share of fights but there hasn’t been a moment where I don’t regret taking her hand in marriage. Cherish that, hold him close to your heart,” his father said then he let out a frustrated sigh, thin lips pressing together into a troubled frown. “One of my biggest regrets is that I will never be able to celebrate my eldest son’s marriage. Whether that is to Timur someday, or someone else, I wish I could share that kind of joy with you but given what’s happening to me, my health… all I can do now is tell you this.”

Their conversation carried on for another few hours, but even after his father fell asleep, Maxim sat by his bedside. The quietness of the room scared him- hell, the passage of time itself was even more frightening than being under gunfire. He endured his own intrusive thoughts for what felt like an hour until the crackle of his father’s wheezing breaths took him out of his trance. The entire house stood still in that moment and he noticed the sounds of his struggled breathing had been the only noise. 

A gut feeling told him something was wrong. He wanted to call for help, get one of his carers or even call his doctor but the rational side of his mind reminded himself that no matter what happens, they won’t resuscitate him. This was the end of his life. So Maxim sat and held on, feeling his faint pulse in his wrist as he closed his eyes and prayed to whatever god was out there to give him a miracle. Despite all the resentment he held and the way he spoke of him, he didn’t want to lose his father. 

At first thought, Maxim assumed he was no stranger to death. He’d taken lives before, from impersonal traps to defending himself with a blade in a life threatening moment. Yet now he sat and listened as his father’s breaths grew weaker, and he learned that witnessing a death was much more somber without the mask of adrenaline over his eyes. When the rhythmic rise and fall of his father’s chest came to a stop and Maxim could no longer feel the caress of his pulse against his index finger, his world halted in its tracks and witnessed him. 

He stood, the legs of his chair scraping against the wood. When he let go of his father’s hand and saw how it fell limp against the bed, reality was beginning to catch up. Although, Maxim wanted to run the opposite way. He prayed that his father was just sleeping but through all his denial, he knew the answer. The carers were on call, they had been expecting this moment for quite sometime and Maxim had to notify someone but the thought of breaking the news to his family shattered his heart into a million fragments. Paralysed with helplessness, he closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath before he approached the door.

The evening was rough for everyone. Maxim spent hours consoling his mother and her agonised sobs burnt into his memory, he even shed a few tears as he held her close and allowed her tears to soak into his sweatshirt. It was late into the night, everyone was devastatingly tired and the news of his father’s passing was volatile. On top of that, Maxim was reminded by everything that would have to follow, including the funeral arrangements. It was a headache and a burden he had to bear.

The body was gone and when Maxim entered the room at midnight it was as if no one had been here to begin with. The bed was made, covers tucked in neatly and the equipment was put aside. All within a couple hours, they had managed to nearly erase his father’s existence from the house, but his belongings remained. Maxim approached his desk and noted the ballpoint pens discarded carelessly, a couple old letters and a few blank postcards which Dmitri must’ve picked up from the post office. 

He didn’t dare to touch it at first. Like he was manoeuvring an ancient holy site full of relics from the past. The room was sacred but when his eye caught the cork board, a thought in his head told him to take everything and he was no longer foreign to the concept of sacrilege. He wanted to hold these documents dear to his heart and store them with his father’s responses which laid carefully tucked away in England. After years of absence, this was the only memorabilia of their relationship. There were no family photos, just brief paragraphs on bits of card. 

As he plucked them off one by one, the door opened behind him. He stopped and looked over his shoulder to see Timur, followed by Ivan and Dmitri.

“Can I take these?” Maxim asked then continued to pull out the pins. It wasn’t a request, but a veiled statement that he was taking them.

“You already are,” Dmitri acknowledged dryly and sat down. 

Ivan put a glass of vodka onto the desk, motioning that it was for him. He leaned against the dresser and watched him hastily prying the tacks from the cork board, wriggling them out of each postcard carefully. “Those things were the highlight of his week. ‘Where will Maxim go next?’” He gave a quiet chuckle and took a long sip. A lingering pause settled between them and everyone was thinking of the same question. “How did he go?”

Maxim paused and stepped aside to allow Timur to help him. “He was sleeping,” he told him. “We were talking before that, but then he was tired and I told him to sleep. An hour later, he passed. I don’t understand, he seemed okay- he looked like he was getting better.”

The brothers exchanged glances then nodded in thought. Dmitri wore a bitter smile on his face. “It’s good you came. If anything, his dying wish was to see you again,” he said but not out of malice, even if he did seem to have a hint of jealousy towards him. “After everything, you’re still his favourite,” he joked.

Maxim gave him a look but he had no energy to return the poorly-timed humour. “Did he ever say anything about the funeral?”

“Mentioned he doesn’t want Igor to lay a hand on his casket, that’s it. So including us, Vadim and Ilya, that makes us five,” Ivan said then waited to see if Maxim was piecing it together. “We need someone else but you know Igor and Dad never got along, it would be insulting to him if he was one of the pallbearers.”

“Bar the man from the funeral then,” Maxim suggested in a sardonic tone but he knew it would be shot down. “Well?”

Ivan turned to Dmitri who gave him an affirmative nod. “We were thinking of having Timur be a pallbearer.”

Timur paused and stared in bewilderment. He hardly knew any of the names that were being mentioned, he couldn’t fathom the idea of carrying the casket of a man he knew for only a few hours, in front of a family who only knew of him from speculation. “Are you sure?” He asked them and he looked apprehensively towards Maxim who busied himself with his postcards. “I mean, it would be a great honour, but this is… this is your father.”

“Our family is not that large, well, our father was never particularly close with anyone. As long as it isn’t Igor carrying his casket, he wouldn’t mind if we had a stranger off the streets doing the job,” Ivan said and reassured him with a smile. “But I think he liked you, which is rare. Hell, I don’t think he’s ever smiled at my wife. And seeing as we may be brothers in the future… would you do it for us?”

Emotions were high for everyone. Timur gave a reverent nod, honoured that they held him in high regard. 

It was snowing the days leading up to the funeral and by the time they were lowering the casket, the snowfall eased off. As everyone stood withering away in the cold, a priest read a few verses and the burial commenced not too long after. There were a few glances towards them, some of the family recognised Maxim and everyone knew of the story behind him, what happened years ago and seeing Timur’s unfamiliar face only stirred more curiosity, but he was too focused on the current matter at hand that their thoughts held no value to him.

Maxim couldn’t shake off the numbness throughout his body, even when he told himself over and over again that his father was dead. It was like he was caught in a dreamlike state and none of his actions had any impact. He was desperate to wake up at this point, but he figured this must be one of the long processes of grieving. As he stood and watched the congregation disperse, it didn’t feel as if it was his father’s funeral. The name was on the headstone, his mother was in tears and he recognised all his relatives, yet his own mind refused to acknowledge the reality of the situation.

He jolted out of his thoughts as a hand squeezed his shoulder in a reassuring manner.

“We’ll be at the pub,” Dmitri told him and then nodded towards Timur. 

The last of them had disappeared to find shelter from the cold, leaving Maxim and Timur standing in the cemetery. Maxim reached for his hand and held onto it tightly, trying to anchor himself with the sensation and warmth as he blinked at the view in front of him. The collar around his neck was strangling, restricting every tiny movement and swallowing was difficult. He reached up to loosen the top button then cleared his throat. 

“It feels like I’m going insane,” he whispered under his breath and sighed, almost agitated at his own head-space. Thick plumes of his misty breath expelled from his nose with every deep exhale and the tip of his nose was growing red from the biting cold. “I don’t feel like myself.” 

Timur squeezed his hand and brushed the snow away from his hair. “It can be that way for the first few days. There’s a lot happening and it’s normal. Take your time.”

There was an invisible force tying him down and he was reluctant to leave. Perhaps he didn’t want to face it all, the doom and gloom that would follow in the bar around his brothers, their cousins to uncles and acquaintances. It was bad enough as it is and if he had a choice, he would rather fly back to England and nurse his wounds quietly. Yet responsibilities called for him and eventually he made his way to the pub with definite intention to drink his feelings away. 

The only distinct memory he had of this place, he was hardly a man. Sixteen years old, an evening fairly close to Christmas and it was customary for the men in the family to have a drink together. He had finally earned a seat at the table and he secured his spot, accepting shot after shot of vodka, throwing back pints with an impressiveness which his father immediately spotted as prior experience. Being a teenager, alcohol was just part of the growing experience. He recalled the way his throat burned as he hurled up everything he drank, kneeling by the toilet as his father chastised him and told him he needed to learn his limits.

Yet here he sat, soaking his misery in spirits and liquor without a single passing thought that he may be taking this too fast. Like Timur had described, he had a chasm in his soul and it was filled with all kinds of conflicting thoughts and emotions. This kind of pain was visceral as if someone was digging their nails into his skin, prying apart sinew and muscle, only to snap through sternum and ribs to reach his beating heart; that hand, now bloodied yet still clawing, seized his heart as it spasmed and spurted from all vessels. Throughout Maxim’s life, he had been shot, beaten and stabbed, but nothing compared to this. It wasn’t due to the fact that he was drinking on an empty stomach, he’d done it plenty of times in the past. 

Relatives gave him their condolences and bought him drinks, told him tales of his father’s childhood. All he could do was nod and listen, wishing he could cope with his loss by reminiscing over the good memories, although all he was left with was a lifelong feeling of unfulfillment. Then as the night drew in closer, he became alienated. Relatives, who haven’t spoken to him in more than two decades, were just as surprised to see him again as if he had been exiled. The way they approached, feigning sympathy as their eyes lingered on Timur for a moment too long, how they told him words which held no value and skittered off to discuss their findings. 

It was the staring. Pairs of eyes that shifted to him every now and again with the same thought of ‘isn’t that Maxim?’ The way everyone acted like Timur wasn’t there, hardly even acknowledging his existence like recognising him as a human being was akin to showing open approval to their relationship. What was once mourning over the loss of a family member became overshadowed by old rumours.

“Oh, isn’t he the one… don’t you remember what Igor said?”

“Is that why he wasn’t one of the pallbearers?”

At one point, there was an anger growing within Maxim that wanted to question if the relatives here truly cared about his father, or if they were only here because they felt they had an obligation to. Yet that flame was easily smothered by his own devastation and he did not act on it. No matter how much he drank, he could still hear the hushed gossiping and his thoughts herded around the notion that it was about him.

Timur’s attention perked to someone approaching and he gently notified him by touching his arm. Maxim sat up from where he slumped against the table. He turned his head. It was the last person he wanted to see.

“A drink for you. And your _friend._ ” Igor spoke and slid two glasses of vodka to them. 

His brothers noticed and they watched carefully as they continued their conversations. Well-versed in reading him, Timur sensed the shift in his mood and he gripped the small glass but did not drink from it. 

“Timur, this is my Uncle, Igor.” Maxim knocked back the shot and made a face as if he had drank a mouthful of gasoline. He cleared his throat and looked at him with an unwavering gaze despite being hardly able to articulate his words. “Igor, this is my partner, Timur.”

Timur did not look away, he maintained his eye contact but he remained calm and poised, unlike Maxim who seemed to be challenging him. They didn’t shake hands but studied each other for a few seconds before Igor laughed and shook his head. “Is this why I couldn’t lower my own brother into his grave?” He questioned, raising his voice. The pub fell into an uncomfortable quietness. “Whose idea was it? Yours?” He turned to Ivan and Dmitri for answers.

“Our father made his wishes clear to us before he passed,” Dmitri offered his answer stonily and looked elsewhere.

As the argument escalated in the background, Maxim took the other shot and drank it down after Timur refused it, still waiting for his lead. In the heat of the moment, he took no notice of what was being said, all the angered reasons as to why he had a right to be the sixth pallbearer. Ivan and Dmitri tried to defuse the situation but it became clear that this was just another person distraught by their shared loss, struggling to deal with it.

The string of beratement that followed brought back painful memories for both of them. As Maxim endured it, his fuse was ready to blow. He stood, fists clenched by his side as Igor continued his drunken rant, taking out his frustrations and anger on his nephew. Had it not been for Ivan and Dmitri removing him from the scene, Maxim would’ve snapped. Though as he stood there and braced against the impact of those insults, he couldn’t summon the energy to fight back despite wanting to and he felt as if he had been neutered, made to submit by his own mind.

He slumped back into his chair and leaned against the tabletop for support, propping his head up with both hands against his forehead as he drew in a deep breath. Given how turbulent he was, Timur figured he had enough. He put an arm around him and took away his glass before he could down another gulp.

“Here, we should go,” he told him and hoisted him to his feet. “C’mon, on your feet. Let’s go.” 

Maxim didn’t protest nor was he in a position to. He grumbled under his breath and complied, not too fussed about leaving the dreary establishment but he was more concerned over returning home in such a state. 

Their peacoats fluttered in the wind. Snow obscured the distance ahead and behind them, all Timur had to go by were the icy pavements as they slinked in and out of lamplight. Though the pub they went to wasn’t too far from home, a six minute walk if they were hasty. The cold air seemed to sober Maxim up, his thoughts became more coherent and he was able to articulate the thoughts passing his mind.

“I should’ve done something when he called you those names,” he mumbled under his breath, feet dragging along the pavement as they turned the corner down their street. “I wanted to, I did, but my head’s been fucked… I can’t think straight.”

“No, it would’ve made things worse,” Timur said and stood him steady. He rummaged through his coat pockets, searching for a key then found it in his right trouser pocket. “He’s lost his brother, watched his other siblings and nephews carry the casket while he was put on the sideline, replaced by a complete stranger who goes against all his beliefs. He’s an asshole, but you need to let him grieve. And… I should’ve said no.”

Maxim looked on helplessly as Timur began to walk again, then he followed him and stopped him in his tracks. “I’m glad you did it. If Ivan and Dmitri- fucking hell, even Dmitri- were okay with it then that’s what matters most,” he said, convinced but the way he slurred his words said otherwise and he prodded his finger against Timur’s chest. “My father would’ve been okay, I’m sure of it.”

Timur shook the thoughts out of his head. He didn’t want to be coddled or reassured and he didn’t move away from the topic because he deemed it to be himself overthinking the situation, but because he didn’t want Maxim to exhaust his energy making him feel better while he had to deal with something much more substantial. He unlocked the door then took him by the arm and guided him in.

The kids seemed disappointed, hoping to see their fathers. The quiet conversation halted in the house, heads turned but the news channel on the television continued to report. At the sound of being greeted with a cheerful “Uncle!” All Maxim could muster was a grunt before he allowed Timur to lead him up the stairs and he struggled not to fall up each step. They forgot to take their shoes off and trailed snow and grit up the carpet but this was one of the rare times that Maxim’s mother did not yell or bicker at him.

Timur sat him down on the bed and brought him a glass of water. He coaxed his coat off, speaking in soft words but Maxim was too tired to make it out. He laid back with his legs dangling off the bed, eyes opened ever so slightly to look back at the flickering lightbulb illuminating the room. Knelt by his feet, Timur undid his shoelaces and pried his shoes off, setting them aside. 

“Here, drink,” he insisted as he took him by his forearms and pulled him back up to a sitting position. He brought the glass to his lips, forcing him to take a few gulps. 

It wasn’t as if he was completely blacked out, but Maxim didn’t care to make himself comfortable. He allowed Timur to take his belt off and loosen a couple buttons on his shirt. With the basin he found in the bathroom and a damp towel, Timur wiped his face, down to his neck and where his chest was slightly exposed. 

“You’re going to feel horrible tomorrow,” he warned and pressed his lips against his cheek where his stubble was growing in thick, overdue several days for a shave. As he examined Maxim’s face, he brushed his hair back with his fingers and offered him a pitiful look. “If you need to throw up, there’s another basin on your side of the bed.”

Maxim leaned into his delicate touch and closed his eyes. “I’m a mess, aren’t I?” He asked, appreciating the sensation of his palms running over his skin in a soothing manner. His voice was broken after having chain-smoked cigarettes at the bar and he reeked of smoke. The odour was so intense that it made Timur’s head spin but he remained close. “What’s happening to me?”

Sometimes, the silence was a valid response. There was no answer, no definite response that could explain his actions in a logical way nor were there comforting words that he hadn’t heard for the billionth time. Timur took his wrists and undid each cuff before he returned his hands to Maxim’s jawline, cradling his face. In his drunken stupor, Maxim gazed back at him and his brows furrowed upwards. His Adam’s apple bobbed and tears glimmered in his blue eyes, on the brink of rolling over the edge as they gathered and gathered and gathered against his resistance, his hailed efforts to hold them back.

Everything that had happened today was beginning to creep up on him and he quickly realised that he placed a great burden upon himself by burying every intense emotion within the depths of his mind. Now they came crashing down on him, and he was overwhelmed. He drew in careful breaths, deliberating each inhale and exhale as if to comfort himself. His eyes held a sea of sorrow and he was astray, barely afloat as waves of his mourning pulled him under. 

“It’s okay to cry,” Timur told him, recognising his silent distress signals. His heart ached for his lover, filled with a poignance he knew too well and he wished, he hoped he would find comfort.

Maxim shook his head but the more he tried to resist it, the anguish in his entire being grew more intense. His tears left hot streaks down his cheeks, wiped away by the pad of Timur’s thumb. He clenched his jaw and clamped his eyes shut. It was no use, regardless of how he tried to calm himself. He felt his expression crumpling, lips began to tremble with greater intensity.

This was the pain they talked about, the vulnerability of allowing one’s walls down and the strength it took to do so. Had he not been there, Maxim would have stowed away his grief and tucked it at the back of his mind as if it were an unwanted souvenir, hoping to forget about it or even lose it. Though this wasn’t something he could ignore. His mind was fixated on it, gleaning every detail for answers to questions which would remain a mystery to him for the rest of his life. It consumed him.

The weight of his emotions made him fold over, his body curled into himself as he hid his face in Timur’s chest, praying that the strong arms around him would never let go. He howled and sobbed until he choked on his own tears that ran down the back of his throat, when the joints in his hands ached from how he grasped onto Timur’s shirt, only stopping when his voice was hoarse.

In that very moment, he felt small, even weak. 

Timur never stopped rubbing his back, he threaded his fingers through his hair, caressing it and he allowed him to take the time he needed until he lost himself to his own exhaustion. Drained of every last emotion, Maxim recognised the newfound emptiness inside him to be freeing- catharsis.

**Author's Note:**

> My Twitter is [@CompoundZ8](https://twitter.com/CompoundZ8)  
> My Tumblr is [erc-7](https://erc-7.tumblr.com)


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